Once upon a time, as Buddha doth know, so many tragic years ago,
Slowly shuffling up that stony trail, towards Golgotha's echoed crest,
Churning gritty morn, when purity was curtly thrust into a horrid throe,
Dangling thieves seemed redeemed, thus enabled, promised heaven's rest.

Soul food so lovingly laid, on God's empiric table,
Mellowed milk and honey, in a far east Shepherd's stable,
Good seed, sweet fruit imparted freely, as peasants then were able,
Angel voice accosts the blazing star, like some Saga's mythic fable.

Time passed slowly, with each measured step in kind,
Up that rocky path, toward Golgotha's anxious height,
Women clad like pillars, in black garments head to toe, quietly walked behind,
Armoured soldiers blasphemed on Golgotha's zenith, to prove their worldly might.

Pure water, rushing from its sacred source,
Spring water, gushing, vowing blessed untold life,
Delivers Nirvana's manna, destined by a spiritual course,
All life shall witness, as Divine renounces corrupted strife.

Up that desecrated hill, I floundered on that besieged morn,
Cautious steps ahead, convicted men hung nailed, enslaved upon their tree,
Crucifixion trumpeting, hail Roman law, blowing Caesar's triumphant horn,
Spears crossed with swords, upon that place where sovereign sets men free.

Stars shine free, resolving grand mystery, in Creation's crystal night,
Galaxies spiraling, adorning Universe, beyond a Master's solar realm,
Heaven's dome, gems and diamonds sparkling bright, jeweled glyphs all alight,
Kingdom come, enlightened Sage and Captain stand steady, ready at the helm.

Higher trudged that sorry gallery, clutching stressful hems, in morn's vacant light,
Towards the groan of that sad day, God moaned, reverent tears spilled down,
Merciless talons hammered home, flesh and bone gave way, tensions ever tight,
Prayers were mumbled, by those so humbled, before that dawning crown.

Far across the ocean, my gaze was fixed on a mythic stone,
Sunrise shone across an arid land, as spent warriors did atone,
Volcanoes belched their acrid smoke, from a fiery stoic cone,
Birds of Paradise flexed 'round a sacred tree, not one danced alone.

Stumbling upward, gravity pulling hard, down to the petrous ground,
Besotted, trudging, treading onward, towards that acrid summit,
Black birds forlornly soaring, crying, high above those helpless bound,
Storm clouds formed o'er distant craggy hills, while my very soul did plummet.

Deep in the mystic sea, a hermit's cave exists,
Far below the waves, apart from human clemency,
Beyond the throne of kings or queens, blend ether mists,
Divinity exacts a promised land, diverged with love's discrepancy.

Once, a long time past, all that former detritus dead and buried,
Golgotha's might pulled me down, tripped me up, made me fall,
Cries, painful rent upon that stony littered knob, death seldom hurried,
Dreams so spent, often lost, such terrible cost, torment casts a ghastly pall.

There was no song that harried day, no music sang, no Horah or child's play,
Miserable upon our bleeding knees, eyes down cast, thence staring up, we wept,
My breaking heart heaving in my chest, prayed for mercy, on that depressing day,
Dark veils reigned, conjured tempest, emboldened cloud, incorrigible wind wildly swept.

Thus darkness cast its lasting shadow, 'cross mankind's fevered brow,
Yet Caesar reigned, that iron fist grasping, groping, dictating in Creation's stead,
Across the land, flags bound the course, building unholy empire, and still somehow,
Darkness negated Light, future Nero tripped the light fantastic, cities burned as mankind bled.

Deep in the magic sea, there's a place, where Divine is borne,
Where sanctity grasps precious life, takes strong hold of metaphysic helms,
God delivers worldly words, Angels trumpet sacred dawn, blown on a Golden Horn,
Where compassion becomes impassioned thought, light ent'ring supreme astral realms.

Behold! Treasure's veil is lifted for all to see,
Sacred has been given rights to calm a tempestuous sea,
That day upon Golgotha's knob, salvation was born for thee,
That violent day as God did mourn, mankind was chained and flogged, yet free.

Across the endless sands of time, echo stories of mankind's journey,
Some say they've seen the epic, glimmering light of that pineal mirage,
Golgotha's fateful apex has come and gone, disintegrated like mythic destiny,
Christlike, Buddha rests, rooted to the sacred bodhi tree, extant of worldly barrage.